Unsung Requiem by C.L. Stone

Prelude

(Short, open-ended compositions as introduction to a larger musical piece)

Victor

The rear gardens of the Morgan estate in downtown Charleston transformed for that evening’s outdoor banquet. Large, white tents billowed against a light breeze in the late January air. A stage large enough for a septet, put together with large, supportive metal bars, sat underneath the tent, ready to host a piano.

A piano rented especially for him.

Large tables were being rolled into the tent as well, stacked high on carts, brought out by a rental truck. The yellow three-story main house had party prep set-up crews streaming in and out.

It was all for him. Just him. At least, that’s what it said on paper.

Victor Morgan stood by, trying to avoid looking at anyone directly. There were clouds forming along the edges of the sky. He had small hopes it would become overcast to fit his mood.

One stiff-looking woman with a clipboard, her hair pulled back in a tight braid and wearing all black, marched over to Victor. She pointed the tip of a pen at him. “Are the arrangements for your party to your liking, Victor?” she asked, her voice wound up tight.

His lips twitched, ready to say, “It’s not my party.” He didn’t, although he struggled to come up with something else. His opinion didn’t matter here. “You should ask my mother,” he said, his tone duller than he’d meant.

The woman sniffed, lifting her nose a good inch at being snubbed but still waiting a second, as if hoping for any indication that he approved.

Did she need more support? “It’s… lovely,” he offered, halfhearted.

She walked away, a little doubt creeping into her smile.

Maybe he shouldn’t be here. They didn’t understand and he was probably sounding spoiled.

He possibly was. He should be grateful for everything he had.

Was it wrong to feel like he didn’t want it?

Victor’s fingers fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves. It was still early, and the air was cool but growing warmer under the sun. Being inside was awkward with people streaming in and out, using the kitchens and any spare space to make preparations of lavish amounts of food and party gifts and decorations. The house was being cleaned from top to bottom for tours. At every moment, people brushed past him and he needed to shift out of the way.

Being outside, he was more noticeable and still sometimes in the way. There was no place to hide at the moment.

Victor checked his phone. A message had come through.

DEPTHCRAWLER: Found a trail.

Victor smirked. He didn’t need to answer. He’d reached out for assistance on a secret project a while ago, and it was just now getting a kickoff.

Too bad he was stuck for the evening. He’d have to get back to him tomorrow. He sent a message on a secured text.

DEPTHAFFECTION: Keep an eye. Will catch up when I can.

Movement out of the corner of Victor’s eyes caught his attention. A young man, maybe even his own age, shoved a cart full of folding chairs in front of him, trying to navigate a walkway, but the azalea bushes were getting mangled in with the casters.

Victor went to him and quietly picked up the corner of the cart, lifting it free from the bush.

“Thank you,” the guy said. He’d no name tag and wore all black like the others who were here to set up.

“No problem,” Victor said, and he continued to help him push through a particularly narrow space along the path, tugging bush branches away.

It was at that point Victor could physically feel the penetration of a dark set of eyes from across the way.

He ignored it until he got the cart through to where the path was clear. The guy pushing the cart nodded his head in Victor’s direction. “Thanks again.”

“Any time,” Victor said, and he meant it.

Victor turned away, ready to go back to where he’d been before, when his mother standing on the porch caught his eye.

She said nothing out loud, only mouthed the words.

You’re a Morgan.

Yes. Victor was a Morgan. Unfortunately. The name she married into, for status, for acceptance. Because when she grew up, a woman with a foreign last name and wealth was constantly butting heads with chauvinists and it made doing anything difficult.

The name carried a status Victor grew up with. Victor Morgan was expected to behave, and he often did. Not doing so meant more attention, and irritating articles and photographs that showed up in the newspaper.

Standing around was frustrating, though. He didn’t need to be here. Everything was taken care of. Not helping when people needed help made him feel even worse.

He’d attended dozens of this sort of event before, some in tribute to himself, like this one.

So why was this one more annoying than the others?

Because it was his birthday.

Although he felt more like a bystander, because all this wasn’t for him, really. It was for his parents. Their friends. The press popping by on the sidewalk, trying to take photos of the event.

Anything to improve the family name of Morgan.

“Victor?”

The sound of Sang’s voice calling his name lifted him out of bitter thoughts. She was here early.

He turned as she emerged from the walkway from the rear of the house to the edge of the gardens where he’d stood.

Nathan and Silas followed behind her. He couldn’t see what vehicle they’d brought with them. With the driveway taken up by set-up crew vehicles, they must have parked along the street and gone around. He hoped there wasn’t any press by the gate they entered from.

Nathan and Silas wore similar dark slacks with thin sweaters, Nathan’s in a deep burgundy, and Silas with a dark navy.

Sang wore a short but lovely gray skirt and a long-sleeved white sweater. Together with the boots, it was elegant. Her pretty hair spilled out of a clip differently than normal, with loose curls added to the locks framing her face. Did Gabriel add those in or did she do that? Those were nice.

The ensemble was missing something though. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

He smiled as she approached, reaching for her hand. “You’re early,” Victor said.

Her fingers interlocked with his. Her hands were warm. And soft. “We’re not in the way, are we?” she asked.

He shook his head vigorously. “No, stay. But we don’t need to be out here.”

Silas scanned the people moving around, the security guards standing by. “If we don’t need to help…”

“Nothing for us to do,” Victor said with confidence. “Too many cooks, you know.” Another excuse, but worse than Victor helping out would be guests helping out. His mother would never approve. He motioned to the house. With the others there and upstairs with him, it might not be so awkward. Before, he had felt like the lone prince in the tower, too good to come down. His mother would want him out of the way at some point, anyway, so he could make a grand entrance right when she wanted.

He ushered them toward the house. Before they made it to the porch, someone called for him from the drive.

“Victor!”

More a summoning than just getting his attention. His spine prickled. He turned once again toward his mother.

With her shoulders back and head high, she stood alongside a couple party coordinators. But she wasn’t speaking to them.

The dead stare was obvious. She wanted him immediately.

Victor tried to hide his wincing. “Let me see what she wants. You three go ahead in.”

Nathan remained on the porch. “We’ll wait.”

He wasn’t sure if this made him feel better. His mother had grown particularly colder by the day, making demands he stay near the house, rehearse, be measured, again, for a new suit he didn’t need since he had dozens.

She got that way when she was getting ready for a big event that he was involved in. He was treated barely better than the workers involved. Just another piece to set up so everything could be perfect.

While the others remained on the porch, he crossed the small back lawn to where she was standing, acknowledging the coordinators with a nod.

Jasmine Morgan was regal perfection, wearing a bold red dress, accenting her slim body. Her gold and diamond necklace Victor knew to be made of paste. She’d wear genuine items tonight but wouldn’t wear such expensive jewels throughout the day. Like most others in her status, she had copies made for daily wear.

Trying not to show his annoyance, he spoke carefully. “Good morning. Did you need something?”

“Where are the keys to your car?” she asked pointedly.

Victor arched an eyebrow. “Did you need me to move it?”

The moment the words passed his lips, her eyes flared wide. He’d answered her demand with a question. And that was not something she thought acceptable. She held out her hand. “Please hand the key over. We’ll take care of it.”

He hesitated. Technically the car parked nearby wasn’t his. It was Mr. Blackbourne’s with Victor’s license plate added to the back. She’d never asked for the key to it before, and her sudden request for it now made him reluctant to just simply hand it over. “It’s… I don’t…”

Again her eyes flared but her hand remained. She was going to hold her position until he gave them over, and he wasn’t to question her in front of other people. Disobedience was never tolerated.

A raspy yet too familiar deep male voice came from behind him. “Victor, don’t be a brat about it today. It’s unbecoming.”

Victor closed his eyes, his spine tingling again. He bit his tongue before responding with what he wanted to say.

He turned as his father came up beside him, dressed in a blue Kiton dress suit, a red tie at his neck. The suit was one he’d talked about ad nauseum since he’d made the purchase, keen to mention the brand when anyone even glanced at it. His hair was neatly trimmed to whatever style happened to be popular that month and brushed back to perfection. In a way, George Morgan was the perfect decadent match for his wife. Although the lewd smile, his often unknown whereabouts, and his drinking habits were unbecoming, she never quarreled with him over it. He carried a tumbler with a Bloody Mary concoction as he drifted over to them.

“I was just offering to move it if that’s what you need,” Victor said. He’d never felt close to his father. Granted, his father never bothered to get close to him, either.

“She doesn’t want you driving off with it before the party and then leaving it somewhere else,” he said. “As you tend to do.”

“It’s never mattered before,” Victor said, again cocking a brow. He needed an explanation for the oddity. This was too strange and he had a gut feeling he needed to know. “I’d thought you’d want me out of the way until tonight anyway.”

Jasmine had retreated her hand and yet remained looking pointedly at him. “Please don’t go anywhere today. We’ve a long day and I don’t want you late for your own party.”

Is it my party or your party, Victor wanted to mutter but restrained himself. Did she just not want him to go anywhere? The party wouldn’t be for hours.

George leaned in to him, arm wrapping around his shoulder, and he held tight. He spoke into Victor’s ear and pretended to whisper, but his breath smelled of vodka and he spoke loud enough for anyone standing nearby to hear. “Don’t embarrass yourself in front of your little girlfriend.”

His mention had Victor turning his head, finding Sang had stepped off the porch. Concern etched onto her face. Her fingertip floated up to her lip, something she did when she was nervous. Silas and Nathan stood by, each looking apprehensive.

Victor wasn’t the one embarrassing himself. George Morgan attracted his own sort of attention. Half he got away with only because he was wealthy and the Morgan name still meant something in Charleston.

When Victor didn’t respond right away, George continued. “We can’t give you the new V28 tonight if you’re…”

“George!” Jasmine said sharply. “Don’t spoil it.” She looked to the coordinators and waved dismissively to them. “Allow me a minute, please.”

The coordinators practically evaporated and became invisible instantly.

Victor paled. He knew it had to be something. He hadn’t expected this.

A new car. Not just any car. A V28. A high-performance, might-as-well-be a race car. Bright. Fins everywhere. It’d be too obvious, too much to drive anywhere in Charleston without drawing loads of attention.

If they were going to give him a new one, it was the worst one. He could never drive it. He’d be expected to, but he absolutely couldn’t.

Not to mention he didn’t have his own car here. It was still in repair after it landed in a lake during an Academy job. If he handed it over now, he might not see it again but they’d learn it was Mr. Blackbourne’s. What was he going to tell them?

Suddenly, he felt a hand at his lower back, small and warm. Sang’s voice floated, polite and disarming.

“Victor,” she said. “Don’t we have a hair appointment in a little bit at the spa before tonight?”

Escape. That’s what he needed. “You’re right,” he said, taking her lead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just not hand it over. But I wanted to get this done this morning and would have asked for it back anyway in just a few minutes.”

Jasmine relaxed her stance and George backed away to stand closer to his wife. “I wish you would have thought to schedule it yesterday,” Jasmine said.

“I didn’t have time,” Victor said.

George wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was looking a little too closely at Sang for Victor to be comfortable. “Take her for a last spin,” he said. “A little morning tryst, right?” He winked for a good long second.

“Stop,” Victor said, the moment becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Sang stood by still, now blushing. Without makeup to mask it, it was obvious she was completely embarrassed.

George looked ready to say more, but Jasmine nudged George just slightly by stepping closer to him. It appeared to others she was just getting close to her husband, but it was more akin to stepping on his foot to tell him silently to shut up. “Go, but be back soon. Forget what your father said. Try to look surprised.”

He dragged Sang away from his parents. Silas and Nathan joined them as they headed to Mr. Blackbourne’s car parked near the garage doors.

Sang leaned into him as they walked. “What are we going to do?” she asked. “The car…”

“I don’t know,” Victor said. He glanced back at Silas and Nathan, both stern-faced. When they caught up, Victor explained the situation quickly.

“Can we repair it within a couple of hours?” Silas murmured, but with his deep voice, it carried.

Victor checked over his shoulder again at his parents, worried they’d heard. As it was, his mother had gone back to the coordinators… and his father was talking to one particularly young-looking assistant carrying a load of tablecloths under her arm.

Nathan was slowly shaking his head, unsure of how to answer Silas. Victor wasn’t sure there was an answer. North could perform miracles with cars, but the extent of damage from being in the lake was unclear.

Before they reached the driveway, Victor stopped. A man in a dark suit with his back to them stood by the BMW. At first, Victor thought he was one of the workers perhaps admiring the car or ordered to wait to move it, like his mother had wanted.

“Pardon us,” Victor said.

The man turned, and the familiar face surprised him.

Mr. Buble wore dark-rimmed glasses, and had dark hair combed back neatly, still appearing damp after a morning shower. His suit was impeccable, with a thin, dark tie and the front buttons secure. The cut was perfect, although Victor wasn’t clear on the brand. It didn’t seem to have any indication of one. His gaze instantly went from Victor, to Sang, to the others and then back to Sang.

“Good morning,” he said. Every syllable clear and direct. He looked to Victor. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it, young Mr. Morgan? A very nice occasion indeed.”

Victor’s nerves shook. He was Academy, but not someone he’d spent a lot of time with. Was he here to monitor on behalf of the Academy for some security reason? He hadn’t been informed of it. Surely all of his own team being in attendance and helping with the security would be enough. “Mr. Buble,” Victor said, taking on a more formal tone, matching Mr. Buble’s. “Were you going to be attending the party? You’re very much invited, of course.”

“I learned from Mr. Blackbourne that Miss Sorenson was here. I wished to come by in person. I didn’t realize there was an event taking place. I didn’t mean to interfere.”

“You’re here for Sang?” Nathan asked.

Mr. Buble redirected his attention to him. “In a way, I’m here for all of you, but for her especially.”

“Is something wrong?” Sang asked. “Did you need us?”

“No, but from what I understand, you need me.” He stepped forward, closing the distance to them all and speaking the next part lower, looking directly at Sang. “I’m your new manager.”